Steak Night

I’ve been around the world and seen loud, high-occupancy locations, but I’ve never seen anything quite like steak night at Bryan College. There’s something about a throng of humans raging for red meat that makes my blood curdle in a special way. It’s like a zombie apocalypse aimed at cows. 

Also, I don’t like steak.

I had done a good job of forgetting all previous steak nights over the summer, but it all came rushing back to me as I stood frozen overlooking the cafeteria. It was overflowing with people, and the amount of noise they were making could not have been healthy.

I caught the eye of a friend of mine already in one of the prodigious lines waiting for food. He just shook his head. I prepared for the worst and went downstairs.

The woman behind the counter who always frowns at me frowned at me. I smiled back and scanned my ID card. Someone pressed a little plastic token into my hand and pointed at the line. I smiled again and made a beeline in the other direction. 

I found my sister sitting at a table with her friends. It was her birthday, and I congratulated her. 

“That line,” I said, “is colloquially known as ‘not worth it.’ I could go to Wendy’s and back before I got food.”

She hugged me, so I suppose that meant she was glad to see me. I glanced back at my friend in the line and rolled the plastic token in my hand, waiting for my opportunity. After a minute or so the second line diminished. I dove past students, professors, and people I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt had zero affiliation with the school to take my place at the end. 

“Who are all these people?” I asked the person in front of me. 

“People who don’t want to pay $30 for a steak,” he said. 

I have a talent for witty comebacks, but I had nothing to say to that. The fact that I had to share my cafeteria experience with people looking for a cheap steak seemed like a violation of my rights. They were making too much noise. 

Also, I don’t like steak.

The rules of steak night are simple. You have a ‘steak token’ which you can give to a sweaty man behind the counter in exchange for a slab of meat. I took the French fries and mostaccioli that were also offered and went back to my table, leaving the undercooked steak behind and jamming my steak token in my pocket. My friend took his steak and came to sit at the same table at the same time. 

I was in a better mood by the time I finished eating. I pulled my steak token out of my pocket and offered it to my sister.

“It’s your birthday,” I said. “Do you want a second steak?”

“The last one was basically raw,” she said. “No, thank you.”

I turned to my friend. “Do you want it?”

 “I’ll never turn that down,” he said. “Hold my seat.”

He got up to get another steak before finishing the rest of his food. I’m told that’s a good idea on steak night. 

“Why don’t you want yours?” A freshman at the table asked me. 

I looked at him and shrugged. 

“I don’t like steak,” I said.